Alison of the Palace
by longlivetayswift
Summary: Sonny never suspected her beauty; She was never told about it. But when she moves to FaireIsle every man is falling for her, especially self-absorbed Sir Chadwick. Alison wants nothing with him, but what's worse? She's the newest maid in at the palace!


"Allison, your falling behind!" my mother taunted as I lugged my heavy old carpetbag and a canvas sack up some stairs leading to the inn. You see, we just moved here from Donbury, and the fact that mother was rushing me like this after quite a long week of travel is hysterical! My body jerked forward as I nearly tripped on the skirts of my tan frock. I hopped over a mound of straw before pouncing to the entrance. Mother banged the iron knocker against the wood door before a man of about 50 let us in. He had a grave, disinterested face, highlighted with thick wrinkles and a hairy mole here and there. He had chin length hair that was not well hidden under a felt hat, shiny with grease and matted down on his forehead.

"What do you want?" he asked in his scratchy voice.

I tucked a loose strand of brunette hair into my bonnet nervously.

"We've come to stay here." Mother stated sharply. I've realized that she can't cope with life when under stress.

"You must be the Munroes. Come in." he ordered.

"JOCELYNE!" he yelled to an archway at the back of the room. Soon a woman dressed in a gray dress and white apron and armed with a feather duster came bustling into the room.

"This way!" the woman said in a Scottish accent. We followed her up a dark, small stairway of about 10 steps up to a hallway with several thin doors. She led told us to enter the third one on the right. She opened the door for us as we entered into where we would be living in for the next 6 months. The chamber contained two small beds against three opened windows, dressed with bear-fur blankets, a rigid, old wardrobe, a buck skin rug, and simple desk with a make-shift wooden crate seat, the thatched roof expertly sealed with dry mud. The wooden walls were bare, save for a long mirror and a china plate adorned with pink cherry blossoms sitting on a stand.

"I hope this will accommodate you two, and by the way, I do apologize for my husband's inhospitable manner; it can get rather dull and dreary around here."

"Do not worry a thing about it! Thank you for making us feel so welcome." I praised, relieved that I like at least one person here in Faire-isle.

Once Jocelyn left, I flopped onto my bed, despite all of mother's words not to, that it was 'not poised'. I let the bags fall to the floor with a loud 'thud' before I fell asleep, drifting off to dreamland.

I awoke to the scent of venison and potatoes roasting in the kitchen below. Mother was across the room busily putting her clothes away in the wardrobe while whistling a tune I had never heard before.

I yawned. "Mother, when will supper be served?" I asked.

"Ah, you're awake! The meal will be served at 5:00 sharp, which is..." she checked the watch pinned to her dress. "15 minutes! You must arise and prepare yourself immediately Allison!"

I hurriedly got up and pulled the crate-chair up to the mirror. Then I let down my long, dark hair, which fell past my waist. I began to brush it carefully in slow strokes as mother always showed me to do. After it was as smooth as possible, I braided it across my head and around to the back, creating a braid that circled my head, leaving no hair hanging on my neck. Now that my hair was done, I picked out a magenta-colored, silk gown out of my canvas sack and put it on. Lastly, I slipped on fresh stockings and my worn-out, leather shoes with a gold buckle in the front.

By this time, it was 4:57, so we took the stairs down to the supper table , which was located at the back of the building on the first floor. The chestnut table was set with white china plates, a bit of blue-checked cloth for a napkin, and a wooden spoon. There were many other tenants sitting at the long table, who I was introduced to.

First, there was Prunella, the stubborn, spoiled child of about 10 years old, daughter of Ulrik, Earl of Kentworth.

Then, the Straught Family, consisting of Angelina, Charles, Marius, and Isabella, a group of busy little toddlers, the children of James and Anika of Trolley.

Last was Eugenia Bustington, a rambunctious, ancient woman of 62, who was placed under the innkeeper's care by a dear friend.

It was quite alarming, the fact that I had to live with these mysterious people for such a long amount of time.

The meal consisted of water to drink (in which old Mrs. Bustington started a quirrel about not having her 'blasted red wine'), Sage and Lemon Venison, roasted golden potatoes, and mince pie for dessert. A cry arose from, little blond-headed Angelina Straught, when upon finding out the dessert menu, complained that she expected to have cherry pie and chocolate Bon-Bons. When her mother tried to quiet her with no avail, my mother elected me to take the red-faced 4-year-old on a walk to calm her down.

"Don't forget your shawls, dearest." my mother reminded me. I grabbed my black shawl and Angelina's purple one and draped it upon her small shoulders.

It was a gorgeous night, warm enough to forgo any cloak, yet breezy enough for a thin, summer shawl.

"Wook, Awison; pwitty dwesses!" she exclaimed in her high voice. She yanked her hand out of mine and ran over to a stand of bolts of fabric and gowns were sold. I ran over in front of her and she held up a salmon-pink gown, adorned with pearls and lace. I acted surprised as I crouched down to her height.

"Is that Angelina? How could it be? All I see is a princess!" I exclaimed as she twirled around. I looked up expecting to see the sales-girl complimenting me on how adorable the girl was, but instead jumped at the site of a man of about 20 right in front of my face. He wore fine, expensive clothing and a black hat adorned with a large white feather on top. He was undeniably attractive, with beautiful, ocean blue eyes and golden-blonde hair that swayed in the wind. When our eyes met, he charmingly smiled- a smile that made the sides of his mouth crinkle and his eyes become even more dreamy.

"Has anyone ever told you every man should be bowing down at your feet?" he said in his British accent.

I blushed a dark red. "I suppose not, but then, you just did."

He smirked again, then helped me up.

"And you are?"

"Allison Contelle Munroe of Donbury. You?"

"Chad, just Chad. Now I must tell you-" he was interrupted by Angelina tugging at my skirts.

"Yes, Angelina?" I answered.

"I want to show you something." she whispered in my ear.

"Just a moment. This man is trying to say something to me." I looked back up to him. "Where were we?"

He resumed, "What I was trying to say is that I must tell you that-" he was interrupted again.

"Yes, Angelina, what do you want?" I asked, a bit annoyed.

"But I must show you now, before it goes away!"

"I believe this man was talking to me. Now, please, try not to interrupt unless it is an emergency. I am so sorry, Sir Chad. What were you saying?"

Right as he opened his mouth, Angelina interrupted yet again.

"But Miss Allison-" this time it was her turn to be interrupted.

"Listen, child, you must learn to be quiet! Children are to be seen but certainly not heard!" Chad said, leaning down to her and shaking her with such great force that she began to wimped in fright.

"What is wrong with you? You're nothing but a bawty, bootless, common-kisser!" and with that, I promptly stomped his foot, picked up Angelina, casted an ice-cold scowl his way.


End file.
